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A Queer Balm: Heated Rivalry and the Radical Pleasure of Asking

Jan 26, 2026

If you’re anything like me, your entire social media feed has been swallowed by Heated Rivalry—the Canadian sports romance show about two hockey players on competing teams who find themselves drawn to one another. A friend and I even have a standing agreement: if one of us sees Heated Rivalry content the other hasn’t liked yet, we are legally and morally obligated to send it along. In a terrifying reality that feels increasingly unmoored, the show has become a kind of refuge—a queer balm we didn’t know how badly we needed.

Given the sheer volume of Heated Rivalry media I’ve consumed, I’ve been surprised by one notable absence: meaningful discussion of sexual consent. I’ve seen thoughtful takes on post‑cottage withdrawal (honestly, helpful), compilations of Connor and Hunter’s off‑screen relationship that continue to defy rigid masculine norms, and even Calico Critters painstakingly reenacting scenes from the show—but almost nothing on consent.

This omission is striking, because one of the most common conversations about Heated Rivalry centers on just how much sex it depicts. I’ve seen a clip of Oprah saying to François (Scott Hunter), “Lotta sex, but okay.” And yes—depicting explicit sex between men is radical in itself, especially amid global attacks on queer rights and within the hypermasculine world of professional sports, hockey in particular. But what matters even more to me is how that sex is portrayed.

I’ve heard people say, “It’s obvious this was written by a woman.” I think part of what that observation is really capturing is the show’s emphasis on consent. These sex scenes are hot—erotic, charged, deeply intimate—even for those of us who prefer women to men. Crucially, they are also explicitly consensual. This stands in direct opposition to the tired argument that consent is “awkward” or that it “kills the mood.” Heated Rivalry demonstrates, again and again, that consent is not only compatible with desire—it amplifies it.

During their very first sexual encounter, Ilya asks Shane explicitly, repeatedly, and oh‑so‑sexily, “Is this okay?” And God, is it hot. Even as Shane is moaning, Ilya checks in again: “Is this still okay?” This isn’t a one‑time gesture. Throughout their sexual relationship, Ilya consistently asks before initiating new sexual acts. He notices shifts in Shane’s body language and pauses to check in. He seeks verbal clarity – “I need-” “What? Tell me.” Desire and consent are entwined, not opposed.

What Heated Rivalry offers is a compelling, humane model of what consensual sex can look like: explicit, ongoing, attentive, and deeply erotic. As a sexual violence researcher, clinician, and survivor, witnessing this was unexpectedly healing.

That this portrayal unfolds between two men makes it even more revolutionary, as most sexual violence is perpetrated by men, research documenting the relationship between traditional masculinity and sexual violence, including my own, and the disproportionately high rates of sexual violence against queer individuals. Against this backdrop, a story that centres men’s intimacy grounded in care, communication, and mutual desire feels quietly radical.

So as many of us look for ways to metaphorically—or emotionally—join the boys at the cottage, here’s one place to start: by being more intentional with our consent. Explicit. Ongoing. And yes—sexy.

Nic Johnson (she/her) is at her core an intersectional feminist, who beliefs ‘the personal is political’. She is a white, queer, cisgender, able-bodied, woman, uninvited settler on xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam) land. Nic is also a mother, a wife, a mentor, a learner, and a wounded healer.

She is an Associate Professor of Counselling Psychology at the University of British Columbia, the coordinator of the Resistance Lab, and a licensed psychologist. Her teaching, research, and clinical work focus on the prevention and intervention of gender-based violence, centering queer and trans communities.

She wanted to join the board of Salal given their commitment to centering all survivors and emphasis on sexual violence as a systemic, cultural concern, rather than solely an individual/interpersonal concern.

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